


Scholars and Spelunkers

by Oricalle



Series: Octopath One-Shots [2]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Minor cameos from others, Not How Archaeology Works, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: Therion prepares for an excursion into a dangerous tomb.  Cyrus, uh, "helps".





	Scholars and Spelunkers

Therion hates Wellspring. Not only does it carry bad memories and worse alcohol, the intolerable heat makes him sweat into his scarf. Therion hates scheduled appointments. They remind him too much of stings and setups, and he’s seen the inside of one too many jail cells to trust anyone to arrive on time. Therion hates scholars. They talk too much and say too little, spouting ideas without actions and looking down on people like him for trying to make a living in a world that’s not theoretical.

Therion wants to hate Cyrus Albright, but he can’t. He can certainly at least be a little annoyed by the way he’s smiling, though.

“Therion, my good man!”

The professor is sporting a cheesy grin and waving excitedly from his seat at one of the Wellspring tavern’s outdoor tables, a mug of drink in his hand and a mostly untouched sandwich on the plate before him. Therion makes his way through the modest midday crowd, weaving expertly through patrons before taking the seat opposite Cyrus. Cyrus doesn’t even wait for him to look up before he opens his mouth again.

“I hope you’re prepared for an adventure! I think today’s undertaking will truly be one to remember.”

Therion groans at the thought of this continuing for the next several hours, and decides to get right to the point.

“75%. You said 75%, right?”

Cyrus shakes his head like he’s scandalized. “Therion, you can’t put a price on knowledge!”

Therion fights the urge to throw his hands in the air. “Your college literally did! 20,000 leaf for evidence on what’s at the bottom of this tomb, right?”

A slight frown crosses Cyrus’ face. “Well, yes, I suppose they did. But that was simply to attract assistants to help unearth these long-forgotten secrets and bring them to the classroom!”

This time, Therion is the one who gets to grin. “It worked, didn’t it? You promised me 15,000 if I helped you do this, so here I am.”

After taking a sip from his mug, Cyrus’ smile slowly returns. “That is one thing I am most certainly happy for. I’ve missed your biting wit, my roguish friend.”

“Yeah, I’ve missed hearing you say dumb stuff like that, brainiac. Let’s get this done so we can be buying victory drinks with the loot money by tomorrow morning.”

The trek to the excavation site is mostly uneventful. Traversing the desert is old hat to Cyrus and Therion by now, and the few monsters that dare to try their luck at the adventurers are easily scared off by a flash of the scholar’s flames. Having to trek over sand dunes in the blazing sun wasn’t the most wonderful thing in the world, but it reminds Therion of old times, and that isn’t the worst thing.

“Say, Prof, I’m curious.” Therion says. “Why is information on this tomb so valuable? It’s a tomb, so I’ve got to assume it’s been around a while.”

When Cyrus’ face flashes a familiar expression, Therion instantly regrets asking the question. “An understandable query, Therion! We’ve known that the ruins in this area belong to an ancient civilization for some time. However, scholars finished canvassing the known structures decades ago. The entrance to this tomb was uncovered by a recent sandstorm, and preliminary studies of the architecture conclude that this must be a noble’s tomb of some sort! Now, I’m not sure how well read you are on ancient forms of burial rites, but-”

“There’s probably treasure in it. Please tell me that’s where you’re going with this.”

Cyrus purses his lips as they make their way over another dune. “I was going to highlight the possibilities of finding a reliable text engraving, belongings of cultural significance, or perhaps even clothing on the corpse that could be studied, but yes. There is also a significant chance of finding objects with more monetary value.” He narrows his eyes. “Which will be the property of the Academy, Therion.”

With a smirk and a nod, Therion manages to stave off the professor’s immediate suspicion, but Cyrus hasn’t even noticed that he stole the remainder of his sandwich at lunch yet. He takes a bite from the meal hidden up his sleeve and chuckles to himself. This is honestly going to be far too easy.

The tomb entrance is far more populated than Therion expected. A white canvas tent is propped up next to a set of outdoor cooking tools, giving the place the appearance of a ramshackle campsite. Two robed figures, two more than he’s comfortable with, seem to guard a rectangular building embedded in the ground.

“I don’t like this, Professor.” he mutters, fingering the handle of one of his daggers. “Think we can get the drop on them?”

Cyrus scoffs. “Calm down, my friend. Not everyone is out to get us.”

“That’s new.”

The scholar waves at the figures and walks straight for them, much to Therion’s chagrin. He’s surprised when they wave back, and even more when one of them calls out Cyrus’ name.

“Professor Albright!” She drops the hood on her robe, revealing a smiling young woman whose eyes seem to light up when she sees them approaching.

“Mercedes! Lovely to see you again!” Cyrus is beaming as he and Therion reach the campsite. Mercedes excitedly shakes the professor’s hand, nodding at Therion as well.

“Always a pleasure, Cyrus! And who is this?”

Therion glares daggers at his companion, praying he knows the most basic rule of thieving, not divulging real names.

“Why, this is my friend Therion! Master thief!”

Somehow Cyrus has managed to break not only the most basic rule, but a new one that previously didn’t need to exist, “Don’t Tell Them You’re Thieves”. Still, Therion supposes, this job is on the level, so he won’t chew him out for it.

Mercedes smiles. “Ah, yes, the one who recovered the Dragonstones! I’ve always wanted to meet you, Therion!”

As she shakes his hand, Therion looks at Cyrus incredulously. “Charmed, really, but did the professor really tell you everything I got up to?” Mercedes’ eyes widen a bit as she seems to get the insinuation, but Cyrus is already too busy rushing over to look at the engravings that outline the tomb.

“Dr. Albright tends to get chatty when he visits the library. I wasn’t expecting to run into him when I volunteered for this archaeology excursion, though.”

Therion playfully swings an arm around Mercedes’ shoulders as he guides her to the tomb entrance. “Yeah, that’s the thing about Cyrus. He always shows up when you least expect him.”

“Is that good?”

“Sometimes.”

Oblivious to their exchange, Cyrus whirls around as his allies approach, ignoring the pointed look the other robed figure is giving him. “Did the Academy station you here to ward off unprepared locals?”

“Indeed.” Mercedes nods. “It’s standard policy to post guards outside of dangerous new excavation sites, just to prevent accidents.”

Cyrus gives a winning smile. “Is it standard policy for them to look so lovely as well?”

When Mercedes starts to titter and blush, Therion knows he has to make a move or this will get very awkward very quickly. He hooks an arm under one of Cyrus’ and half-drags the scholar towards the inside of the entrance.

“Thank you, Mercedes, we’re going in now!” He gives the quickest of bows before slamming the stone doors behind them. It’s pitch black, but Cyrus quickly conjures a ball of light to swirl around his body, illuminating the dusty stone walls inside and the foreboding staircase before them. Therion gives a weary sigh before starting down the stairs, Cyrus following close at his heels.

“You know, Professor, you’ve got to stop charming everyone you meet. It’s just not good for you.”

“I’m certainly not doing it on purpose, Therion! I suppose my accursed good looks are interfering in my professional business yet again!” Cyrus smiles, and Therion wonders if any human being has ever managed to look more punchable. He changes the subject before he can act on that theory.

“So, the tomb is dangerous, eh? You didn’t mention that at the tavern.”

Cyrus shrugs. “Oh, not for you, I’m certain. There are likely some traps, maybe a few subterranean beasts, nothing we can’t handle with a little application of our combined talents.”

At that, Therion laughs, stepping forward into the first open room of the tomb structure. “So I stab them and you light them on fire?”

“But of course.”

The chamber is far more lavish than Therion expected. The sandstone walls are painted a wide variety of brilliant hues, each color spiraling out from a symbol he doesn’t recognize. The dreamlike interior is only enhanced by the bronze snake head attached to the wall above the opposite door, ruby painted eyes glaring menacingly at the intruders. It’s a shame that none of this looks particularly easy to steal. 

“Nice place…” Therion muses.

Cyrus’ face is lighting up like a kid in a candy store’s, as he scribbles notations in the small book that Therion knows he takes everywhere. “I must agree.” he says, not even looking at Therion as his attention continues to be focused on the scenery.

“We’ll want to move quickly, though.” Therion frowns and leans closer to the ground, tilting his ear. “I definitely hear something moving around down there. Let’s make sure we get first grabs at all the loot.” He takes rushed steps forward, eyes completely on the prize ahead.

“Therion, wait!”

Cyrus’ warning comes too late as the familiar sound of a pressure plate activating fills Therion’s gut with dread.

“Shit. That’s on me.”

A horrible creaking sound fills the room as Therion withdraws both daggers, crouching into a combat position. Cyrus retrieves his tome of spells from its satchel on his belt, and both men focus on the snake mounted snake head, which has begun to tremble.

The jaws snap open with a clang, and a ramp unrolls from the metallic creature’s maw.

“A trap!” Therion shouts. “Be ready!”

A terrible rumbling sounds from inside the wall as a mass of dark, serpentine shapes stream out of the opening and scatter to the floor, where they remain, unmoving. Slowly, Therion stalks ahead and kneels down, casting a watchful eye over the room’s new occupants. Much to Cyrus’ surprise, he chuckles.

“You know, I’m guessing this trap would have worked a lot better a few hundred years ago.”

He waves Cyrus over, and the pair stare down at a collection of snake skeletons, some already shattered from the fall. Cyrus leans down and pockets a set of the remains, tucking them away into a small pouch. 

“Cyrus, what are you going to do with that?”

The scholar shrugs. “I’m sure one of my colleagues is an expert in herpetology. If they could identify what type of snake this was, it could provide interesting information!”

Therion takes a moment to wonder just how many unspeakable objects his friend might carry around on a daily basis. When he decides he doesn’t want to know the answer, he marches into the next door, Cyrus following close behind.

Inside, another set of stone stairs spirals down into blackness. When Cyrus flicks his wrist and directs the light deeper in, it only reveals more stairs. “I suppose we ought to get started.” Cyrus muses. Therion nods in agreement, and the pair start to descend the steps, Therion’s sharp eyes ahead encouraged by his earlier failure. He doesn’t want to look incompetent in front of Cyrus, of all people.

“Say, Therion, did you get Primrose’s recent letter?”

Therion sighs. “Yes, Cyrus. Little busy here.”

“An orphanage? My. It sounds like quite an undertaking, but if I trust anyone to do the improbable, it’s certainly her.”

“Yeah, okay, settle down.”

“And I saw Erhardt in town earlier. I wonder if he knows what the good Sir Olberic is doing lately.”

“I don’t know, Cyrus.”

“The man so rarely seems to write, though I understand that he may be quite busy! Imagine the life of a living legend, long thought dead, returning alongside his former foe! It simply boggles the mind, does it not?”

“Cyrus, please.”

“That reminds me, I found a tome in my collection the other day that Ophilia would l-”

A sudden click sounds once more as Cyrus takes another careless step down, and Therion leaps into action, leaping on the professor’s back and pushing the both of them to the floor. “Keep low!”

Moments after the adventurers hit the ground, gouts of flame erupt from invisible slits in the stairwell walls. Therion winces as the fire passes just above his hair, just barely keeping him and Cyrus out of the blast zone. Ancient machinery rumbles and roars for a few seconds more before noisily coming to a halt, the stress of ages leaving it to creak and groan at its intended victims.

“Okay.” Therion’s heart finally slows back down. “That’s one mistake for each of us now. Let’s just make sure nothing else goes wrong.”

“A sound strategy.” Cyrus replies. “But, erm, there is one thing, Therion.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you kindly lift your knee out of my buttocks? I am currently pinned to the ground.”

As soon as they step into the final room of the tomb structure, both Cyrus and Therion quickly realize that they are not alone.

A human figure lurks in the center of the room, slowly rifling through a stone trunk left at the foot of what appears to be an ornately decorated coffin. “Grave robber.” Cyrus mutters, trying to keep quiet. “Anyone you’ve met in your profession?”

“I don’t know how social you think I am.” Therion scowls. “Keep an eye out, Cyrus, my gut’s telling me this won’t go well. You should probably introduce us. People tend to like you more.”

Stepping forward, Cyrus waves at the figure and flashes his best charming smile. “Good afternoon! I am Professor Cyrus Albright! May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

The figure slowly turns, revealing a gaunt frame and deep crimson eyes. As it emits a deep guttural hiss and raises hands crackling with arcane energy, Cyrus takes a step back.

“Therion, I don’t think it’s friendly.”

The undead creature roars and slashes one of its hands in a downwards motion. Spikes of ice rain from the ceiling, and Therion is forced to roll out of the way before one impales him. Cyrus quickly conjures a shield of pure flame, melting the projectiles around him. The monster almost seems to smile as it mimics the motion with its other hand. An array of lightning strikes begin to pepper the room, landing with thunderous sound and causing the hair’s on Cyrus’ arms to stand up.

“Look out, it’s trying to pin us down!” he shouts, struggling to maintain the shield of flame despite the crackling energy in the air. Cyrus frantically searches the room, but between the noise of the electric attacks and the visual chaos of the tumbling ice, he can’t even see Therion anymore. For a moment he fears the worst, but the monster suddenly howls.

The tumbling icicles come to a stop as Therion emerges from behind the zombie and hacks its left arm away with a clean slice. Seeing his opening, Cyrus concentrates his spellcasting energy and hurls the flame shield forward, sending it careening into the monster. As the fire starts to consume their foe, Therion rushes back to Cyrus’ side and watches as the zombie falls to ash. Therion grins and returns his daggers to their spaces on his belt.

“Well, I’m glad it seems like we’ve both still got it.”

Cyrus frowns. “Honestly, I do wish we could finish one expedition without violence.” His expression softens as Therion pushes forward towards the coffin. “It was rather exhilarating to battle with you once more, though.”

As he begins to examine the jeweled coffin, Therion shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, wasn’t bad. Don’t get all sappy on me now, old man, we’re nearly done here.”

Before Cyrus can educate Therion on the relative inconsequence of their eight-year age difference, certainly not enough to call him “old”, the thief points excitedly to the far wall of the room.

“Now that looks promising!”

Amidst the undecorated sandstone wall, a sapphire colored gem was emitting a soft glow. It appeared to have once been hidden by a panel, but time had worn away the hinges and left the treasure’s cover lying uselessly on the floor.

“Hey Professor, are you seeing this?”

Cyrus, in fact, is not seeing it. His attention is focused entirely on the stone placard at the coffin’s base as he reads intently, performing a live translation of the markings.

“Fascinating! It appears this is the tomb of an ancient sorcerer! What a find! Why, who knows the sort of mystic secrets this woman could have uncovered in her time? Her name was Ange Hyrem, and she…”

Not quite as interested in biographies, Therion simply chuckles at the way Cyrus is so engrossed in the placard, his fingers running deftly along the carvings as he works. Oh well. What the professor doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“...Founder of a most esteemed society of magical import, accepting only the cleverest and most adventurous casters in the empire! Think I’d make the cut, Therion?”

“Yeah, sure.” the thief replies, far too engaged in snaking his hand through the recess the panel had once covered, already calculating the worth of the gem in his mind.

“...only accessible through the use of a mysterious device that would brand one as a member of the circle…”

Therion’s left hand clamps around the gem.

“...mysteriously disappears after use, leaving behind only a mark on the user…”

With a burst of light, the treasure seems to explode before Therion’s eyes, and the tomb is filled with a brilliant blue as the gleam expands. Cyrus covers his eyes against the sudden radiant assault, and when he opens them, Therion is lying on the floor.

“Oh dear. Therion? Can you hear me?” 

Cyrus rushes to his comrade’s side, kicking up dirt and sand as he sprints across the chamber. One hand plunges into his belt-pouch to scrounge for a curative, but Therion moans and pushes himself back into a sitting position with little trouble.

“Yeah,” Therion mutters, rubbing the back of his head, “looked a lot worse than it was. Just...caught me off guard, mostly. Do you think that was another trap? Certainly not any kind I’ve ever run into before.” 

Cyrus looks Therion over, trying to call on faint memories of Alfyn’s descriptions of the most common physical injuries. He’s never been an expert in the medical field, unfortunately. To his untrained eyes, Therion’s legs seem fine, no odd angles at the joints. His jacket is covered in dust and debris, but there are no signs of blood, and Cyrus doesn’t feel comfortable immediately asking him to take his shirt off for further examination. However, there’s something out of the ordinary…

“Therion, my boy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you get a tattoo since I saw you last?”

Therion narrows his eyes. “What? Of course not, why would I-” He follows Cyrus’ gaze to the offending spot on his arm, and his face goes pale. “Oh shit.”

The faint outline of two concentric circles is inscribed on the underside of Therion’s left arm. It glows, faintly, the same shade of blue as the gem had been.

“Fascinating…” Cyrus murmurs, while Therion is still too in shock to slap him in the head.

“Yeah, it’s great! Just wonderful!” Therion sits up straight, holding the marked arm in front of him and glaring at it like a hated foe. “I spend a day walking through the desert, nearly get set on fire, get jumped by some kind of wizard zombie, then get hit by a magical explosion and have some kinda new tattoo that’ll probably blow me up! It’s like I’ve fallen in love!” He snarls at Cyrus, nearly punching him when the scholar flashes a wry smile.

“What’s so funny, Professor?”

“If I may ease your mind...you aren’t going to explode. Not because of that mark, at least!”

Therion exhales. “Suppose that’s a relief.”

“If my skills in evaluating arcane runes hold up, and I assure you, they do, that mark is entirely dormant. It’s not exerting any sort of effect on you at all. Judging by the information on the plaque, I’d wager that was used as a form of identification among ancient mages! A sort of mystic membership badge, if you will! Ingenious!” The scholar rubbed his hands together, eyes wide with glee. “Oh, the academy will be thrilled with such a find!”

With a groan, Therion rose to his feet. “I don’t know if they’ll find anything, Cyrus. That gem popped like a grape. There can’t be much left of it now.”

Cyrus’ expression falters slightly as he’s pulled back to reality. “I suppose you’re right, my good man. ‘Tis a shame, such a treasure would have assuredly been a boon to interest in the archaeological fields!”

“And it would have made the college dig pretty deep in their coffers, right?”

“Well, that as well, but…” 

Therion thought the spellcasting angry undead was the scariest thing he’d see today, but the disturbingly impish grin that unfurled on his companion’s face absolutely blew that dusty bag of bones and its sparklers away. 

“Therion. I’ve got an idea that I think will benefit us both.”

Standing deep below the ground, covered in dirt and dust, the ashy remains of some long-dead sorcerer starting to slip into his shoes, Therion asked himself a question.

What could he possibly hate more than this?

“Class! Attention!” Cyrus struts into the classroom, chin held high and collar sufficiently straightened. Therion trudges behind him, trying to be sure to affix each and every gawking student with a glower. He was hoping at least one of them would faint, or run out of the room, but instead thought he heard a faint giggle.

Gods, how he wished he looked like Olberic sometimes.

“As you may recall, last week I went to the excavation site in Wellspring!” Cyrus announces. He slammed his hands into the top of the desk and leaned over it, swiveling his torso as he spoke. “I faced deadly traps, fiendish beasts, and the smoldering sun in pursuit of man’s greatest treasure…” Cyrus pointed to the sky, grinning madly. “Knowledge!”

Before Therion can retort, he focuses his thoughts on money. Fifteen thousand leaf. Fifteen thousand leaf to get through the next six hours. At least most of the students look as exasperated at Cyrus’ antics as he is.

“Alas, I was only able to transport one piece of that ancient culture to you today, class, but I assure you, it shall astound!” The professor suddenly grabs Therion’s arm, yanking him to the front of the class with surprising force. “This is my trusted ally, Therion, who is now a piece of mystic history! Behold!” Cyrus juts his finger towards Therion’s arm, which the thief uncovers with a scowl. “The mystical mark of Hyrem’s Circle, a secret sign of the ancient mages!”

The practical demonstration seems to lighten the mood of the class, with several students craning their necks and rising from their chairs in attempts to get a better look. Cyrus chuckles. “Settle down, everyone, I’ll be lecturing on it all period, but at the end, you’ll all have a chance to come examine Therion and his wondrous mark.” The professor tilts his head to faux-whisper another remark. “And I hear he’s single…”

Peals of laughter and giggles break out as Therion turns to whisper in his comrade’s ear.

“Someday, Cyrus, I will kill you.”

Cyrus grins.

“Please do at least wait until class has concluded. It’s a bit late to find a substitute.”

Therion hates Atlasdam. He hates the smell of old books and chalk. He hates the way the man in the front row is gawking at his arm. He hates the way the sun shines through the windows at exactly the right angle to get in his eyes.

Therion wants to hate Cyrus Albright, but he can’t. He’s getting close, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried something a little different with this story, since I wanted it to be more fast-paced and adventure-y I went with present tense. I'm still a bit conflicted on how it turned out.


End file.
